Evan Hunter - A Horse’s Head

“I’m a gambler,” Mullaney said.

“Horses, you mean?”

“Horses and other things, too.”

“What other things?”

“Dice, cards...” Mullaney shrugged. “You know.”

“Do you ever win?” the driver asked.

“Oh, sure,” Mullaney said.

“What’s the most you ever won?” the driver asked.

“Well...” He hesitated again. The most he’d ever won was a hundred and sixty-five dollars on the Daily Double at Yonkers Raceway. “I won... uh... almost three thousand dollars at Hialeah once. I was down there for the winter.” He paused. “I go down there every winter,” he said.

“That must be the life,” the driver said.

“Oh, sure, it’s a nice life,” Mullaney said.

“You married?”

“No. No,” Mullaney said.

“I got a battle-axe I’ll let you have for a subway token,” the driver said, and laughed. “I also got three miserable little bastards, one of them is playing around with boys, the other is playing around with pot, and the third is playing around with himself,” the driver said, and laughed again. “I’ll throw them in for the same subway token.”

“Well, thanks,” Mullaney said, and laughed, “but I like this free and easy life I have.”

“Must be a free and easy life, huh?” the driver said.

“Oh sure, it’s a very free and easy life.”

“Three thousand dollars, huh?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Down at Hialeah.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Mullaney said. “I also won a lot of money at Churchill Downs once.”

“That’s in England,” the driver said.

“No, Churchill Downs,” Mullaney said. “That’s in Kentucky. I go down there for the Derby each year.”

“Oh sure, that’s in Kentucky,” the driver said. “You really get around, don’t you?”

“Oh sure, I get around,” Mullaney said.

“I envy you, mister,” the driver said, “I really envy you. I get home the other night, my faggot son is sitting on some guy’s lap, right in my own living room, I nearly killed him. I said you goddamn pansy get out of my house with your queer friends, you know what he told me? He told me What do you know about love, Pop? What do I know about love, who only created him, the little fruit.”

“How sharper than a serpents tooth,” Mullaney said.

“You said it,” the driver said.

They were coming around the perimeter of the cemetery now, fast approaching McReady’s place. Mullaney did not want to add to the cab drivers woes, but he could see no way of leaving the taxi without stiffing him. He suddenly had a brilliant idea, or at least told himself it was a brilliant idea, completely ignoring the fact that he was about to compound his contemplated larceny.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m going right back to where you picked me up, would you like to wait for me?”

“And get stiffed, huh?” the driver said, and laughed.

“Well, no,” Mullaney said uneasily. “I really am going back. In fact, if you’d like me to pay you before I get out of the cab...”

“I think I can tell a gent when I see one,” the driver said. “That’s it up ahead there, ain’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t be long, will you?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“I’ll wait,” the driver said. “I got to go back that way, anyway, because my garage is over on Sutter, you familiar with Brooklyn?”

“Not very.”

“Well, that ain’t too far from where I picked you up. But don’t take all day, huh? It’s already...” He looked at his watch. “... twenty to five, I should have been in ten minutes ago. Okay?”

“Fine,” Mullaney said. He opened the cab door. “Thank you for what you said.”

“What did I say?”

“About... my being a gent. Thank you.”

“Come on, come on,” the driver said, embarrassed, but he smiled nonetheless.

Mullaney went up the gravel walk, debating whether he should chance popping in on McReady without at least a preliminary phone call to announce the purpose of his visit. Suppose K or Purcell were in the cottage, suppose they all began shooting the moment he opened the door? He noticed that the window he had dived through the night before was still open, and whereas he didn’t want to waste time trying to locate a phone booth, he saw nothing wrong with stealing over to the window and doing a little precautionary eavesdropping. He tiptoed across the gravel, ducked below the window, and then slowly and carefully raised his head so that his eyes were just level with the sill.

McReady was alone in the room.

He was standing near the Tutankhamen calendar, alongside which was a wall telephone. He had the phone receiver to his car, and was listening attentively. He kept listening, nodding every now and then, listening some more, and finally shouting, “Yes, Signor Ladro, I under stand! But...” He listened again. “Yes,” he said, “losing the body was inexcusable, I agree with you. But, Signor Ladro, I must say that I find this call equally inexcusable. I thought we had agreed... yes... yes, but... yes... what? Of course, the body was properly clothed. Yes, that does mean the burial garments were lost as well. Including the jacket, yes. But I told you we’re making every effort to relocate the corpse. Yes, of course, the jacket as well.”

Mullaney’s eyes narrowed. Go on, he thought. Talk, McReady. Tell the nice gentleman — who is undoubtedly a member of your international ring, I can tell by the way you’re using your finishing-school voice and manners — tell the nice gentleman all about the jacket.

“Eight,” McReady said.

Eight, Mullaney thought.

“No, at five to six.”

At five to six, Mullaney thought.

“Three, that’s correct,” McReady said.

Oh, it’s three, Mullaney thought.

“No, ten, eleven, and nine, in that order.”

Oh my, Mullaney thought.

“Signor Ladro, I really find discussing... yes, I can understand your concern over the delay, but we thought it best not to contact... yes, I understand. But the matter is still a very delicate one, here in New York at least. The... accident occurred only two nights ago, you know. One might say the body is still very very warm. Good, I’m glad you do.”

What is he talking about? Mullaney wondered. What the hell are you talking about, McReady?

“Well, all I can do is assure you once again that were doing everything in our power to recover it. Yes, quite securely fastened, there’s no need to worry on that score. Besides, we had arranged for a decoy, Signor Ladro, as you know. So we feel confident that everything is still intact. Well no, we can’t be certain , Signor Ladro, but... what? We had them drilled. Yes, each one.”

How’s that again? Mullaney thought.

“No, before they were painted,” McReady said.

Now he’s talking gibberish, Mullaney thought, frowning.

“Black, of course,” McReady said.

Mere gibberish.

“That is correct,” McReady said, “you have it all, Signor Ladro. Please be patient, won’t you? You will receive the coffin as soon as we can correct the problems on this end. We understand that’s the family’s wish, and we are doing everything possible to comply. Well, thank you. Thank you, Signor Ladro. Thank you, I appreciate that. It was good hearing from you, too, Signor Ladro. Thank you. Please give my regards to Bianca. Ciao. ”

McReady hung up, and then took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow. Mullaney, standing outside the window, was thinking furiously. McReady had reeled off a string of numbers, eight, and three, and nine, and eleven, he could barely remember them all, were they some sort of code? He had also said “At five to six,” was that a time? Was he referring to a specific time, and was it New York time or Roman time? Ten, that was another one of the numbers, what did any of them have to do with the jacket or with the paper scraps Gouda had substituted for...